


So Great as to Render Resistance or Opposition Useless

by blehgah



Series: Unexplainable by Natural Law or Phenomena [3]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: 5+1 Things, M/M, Smut, Supernatural Elements, bottom seungcheol oops, everyone has minor superpowers au, i don't write smut often and this is what happens what the fuck, mindreader AU, they're still idols tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 17:53:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7943764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blehgah/pseuds/blehgah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Seungcheol looks after Jihoon and one time Jihoon looks after Seungcheol.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Great as to Render Resistance or Opposition Useless

**Author's Note:**

> i started this with the intention of writing smut with jihoon's power because, you know, extra hands, real kinky. but then it got long. [this](https://twitter.com/shujeongs/status/771777390154387456) pretty much sums up my feelings on the matter.
> 
> ETA: it's not necessary to read the other works in this series for continuity, but there's background info in the first part that addresses both seungcheol's and jihoon's powers.

1.

 

3:27 am. It’s late, but not _late_ late, according to the boys’ standards. Most of the members are asleep: Seungcheol can hear their soft, even breathing throughout the dorm. This would usually serve as a good sign for him to find some solace in his pile of blankets, but there’s something too small about the chorus of quiet breath surrounding him.

Someone’s missing. At this point in time, not only has Seungcheol memorized the pattern of each of his members’ voices, but he can recognize the way air sounds as it dribbles past their sleeping lips.

There aren’t a lot of things Seungcheol can compare his powers to when asked to describe them. The first word that comes to mind is always, without fail, overwhelming. He perceives so many things at once, it’s just on the border of dizzying.

At the age of twenty-two, he’s mostly used to it. The thing that aggravates him the most is travelling, he’d say: the constant barrage of foreign sensations is enough to crush him to dust. He hates airports.

But, when handling a group of twelve other boys, Seungcheol has to admit that his power is useful. Like right now—it helps him to identify the missing person.

Though, if he’s being honest, he’s pretty sure he’d be able to tell it’s Jihoon even under normal circumstances.

The dark of the night doesn’t faze Seungcheol as he slips out of his bedroom. Even the faintest hints of light are picked up by his sharp eyes. With ease, he finds his jacket before sliding it over his shoulders and exiting the dorm.

At 3-something AM on a Thursday night, the city sleeps fitfully. It fidgets with the presence of the occasional straggler—and Seungcheol supposes he counts as one of those, shuffling down the sidewalk in his sweats and a bomber jacket—defying the conventional standards of a decent sleep schedule. With the weekend looming on the horizon, Seungcheol figures he ought to blame over-eager partiers getting ready for the upcoming break.

The walk to the company building is short and Seungcheol knows it like the back of his hand. He makes a quick pit stop at the nearby convenience store before ducking into his workplace—his second home.

He doesn’t bother turning the lights on as he navigates the halls to his destination, travelling yet another familiar route. At the end of the corridor, he catches the rhythmic blink of a computer screen, can feel the faint vibration of music through the floorboards. He wiggles his fingers around the plastic bag in his grip in time with the beat.

“Woozi-ssi,” Seungcheol chirps once he opens the door to Jihoon’s personal studio.

The man in question doesn’t even twitch. Seungcheol wants to blame it on the headphones sitting pretty on Jihoon’s ears, but he knows Jihoon is always hyper-aware of the state of his studio, attentive like a vigilant protector.

Jihoon’s shoulders rise as he takes a deep breath. Seungcheol watches with endless patience as Jihoon deflates with his exhale.

It takes Jihoon a minute to lower his headphones with his hands and save his progress with his phantom hands. In the dim light of the studio, Seungcheol can barely see them; they shimmer with the constantly shifting colour of Jihoon’s aura, only visible to Seungcheol’s sensitive eyes.

“It’s late,” Seungcheol says. He offers the words quietly, presenting them like an olive branch and hoping against hope that he’s a suitable white dove.

Sighing, Jihoon runs a hand through his hair.

“I didn’t notice,” Jihoon deadpans in reply.

When Jihoon finally turns around, Seungcheol’s chest tightens. His eyes scour Jihoon’s face as concern seizes Seungcheol in a vice grip.

The pallor of Jihoon’s skin paints him as a ghost, and his haunting eyes chill Seungcheol to the bone. It takes a considerable chunk of Seungcheol’s remaining energy not to rush forward and collect Jihoon in his arms just to make sure Jihoon really is alive and well.

Instead, Seungcheol coaxes his mouth into his usual smile and holds out his convenience store spoils.

“I brought treats,” he says. He jiggles the bag for emphasis.

Jihoon’s eyes slide to the bag with the speed of molasses running uphill. Seungcheol isn’t sure that Jihoon really understands.

Lowering the bag to his side, Seungcheol takes tentative steps into the studio. He puts his free hand on Jihoon’s shoulder. Part of him eases up once he feels Jihoon's body heat against his palm, and he relishes in the softness—the weave, the texture, the physicality—of Jihoon's wool jumper. The rest of him remains tense with worry because of course Jihoon’s still alive—this work would be for naught if he killed himself doing it.

It’s not a comforting thought, but it’s all he’s got right now.

“I brought ramen and kimbap,” Seungcheol adds, “and milk tea.”

Jihoon glances at the bag once more. He licks his lips before looking up at Seungcheol.

Jihoon gives no verbal thanks. His gratitude is expressed in the way he turns again to shut down his computer and put his work on pause; it’s enough for Seungcheol to see that Jihoon has accepted his peace offering as a benefit rather than a hindrance to his beloved work.

They relocate to the nearest breakroom. Seungcheol puts a pot on the stove to boil and Jihoon opens his bottle of milk tea.

It’s quiet. Seungcheol wishes he could say he can hear Jihoon thinking in the mass of silence enveloping them both, but even his powers have limits. He does, however, hear minute things like the sound of the tea going down Jihoon’s throat and the whistle of Jihoon’s breath through his nose. It's small, infinitesimal, even, but comforting nonetheless.

Leaning against the counter, maintaining a safe distance, Seungcheol feels brave enough to break the silence: “Did you make a lot of progress?”

In other words, “Was it worth staying up late enough to garner a visit from me?”

Jihoon hums. Seungcheol feels the vibration in his own throat.

“Almost,” Jihoon replies. He holds the bottle of milk tea an arm’s length away from his chest, observing it, searching for answers in the swirl of brown. “There’s still something off,” and he spits that last word like it’s acid on his tongue, “and I just—” His fingers tighten around the plastic. His grip is hard enough to dent the bottle, but not enough to force liquid out of it. “I just _couldn’t_. I couldn’t get it right.”

“There’s always tomorrow.”

Jihoon snorts his dissatisfaction. He turns the bottle in his grip, still looking for the secrets hidden under the paper label—maybe searching for the faults in Seungcheol’s vague but infallible reply.

Seungcheol smells the water reach a boil first, then hears the bubbling shortly after. The heated metal irritates his nose just a bit, but he busies himself with dumping the noodles into the pot and readying bowls.

When Seungcheol sits across from Jihoon and presents his dongsaeng with the food, he doesn’t look for a thanks. Jihoon accepts the gift with a nod of his head and turns his gaze towards the ground.

That’s enough, Seungcheol thinks, just to have Jihoon eating something, just to have the promise of sleep only a few steps away.

Jihoon’s face disappears behind his bowl as he slurps up the last of his broth.

“Hyung,” he murmurs without looking up, “you really didn’t have to do this for me.”

The corners of Seungcheol’s eyes crinkle with his smile. “Oh? You sure about that?”

Colour slowly bleeds into Jihoon’s cheeks. He nods and chews on his bottom lip. “Really, it’s—you’re too much sometimes, you know?”

He looks up and gestures at Seungcheol’s—well, nothing in particular, really, so Seungcheol decides Jihoon must mean all of him.

“—and it’s, like, four AM. Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

Seungcheol just grins. “Shouldn’t you know better than to ask me these things?”

Jihoon rolls his eyes, and Seungcheol can see the motion in Jihoon’s entire body.

“What I mean to say is, well.” Jihoon sighs like it isn’t actually four AM and he has all the time in the world. “I—you know.” His eyes rise to meet Seungcheol’s. “Thanks.”

The grin on Seungcheol’s face widens, splitting his face in half. He extends a leg under the table to knock his shoe against Jihoon’s ankle, and he delights in the small start Jihoon makes at the contact.

“It’s whatever, you know?”

 

 

2.

 

The next time Seungcheol finds Jihoon fussing about something, it’s not 3-whatever AM, thank god.

It’s early in the afternoon when he encounters Jihoon dancing in the practice room by himself. As Seungcheol stands in the doorway, he finds himself content to stand back and watch.

The lines of Jihoon’s body are fluid as he steps in time to the music. His limbs snap sharply to the beat and Seungcheol can see the power in the motion, the determination. He can also see Jihoon’s frustration manifested as globs of sweat pouring over his skin. He must have been at this a while now.

When the song ends, Jihoon’s harsh breathing buffets Seungcheol’s ears. Jihoon straightens his posture and flicks his hair out his eyes, which lift to meet Seungcheol’s in the mirror.

Seungcheol waves.

Jihoon’s shoulders droop, though his chest continues to rise and fall at a rapid pace. Seungcheol tracks a drop of sweat as it rolls down the ridge of Jihoon’s cheekbone and disappears down the curve of his throat.

“You’re here,” Jihoon says.

Nodding, Seungcheol replies, “Yep! Were you looking for me?”

Jihoon hums. He stalks over to the sound control system before replying, “Not in particular, but. You’ll do.”

Rolling his eyes, Seungcheol leaves his post by the door and approaches Jihoon’s side. “You sure know how to make a guy feel wanted.”

All Jihoon does in response is flap his free hand with a loose wrist.

The music starts again and Jihoon looks up to meet Seungcheol’s gaze. “Help me with this,” he says. Seungcheol can tell Jihoon’s fully expecting a yes without complaint.

And he gets it. Seungcheol nods and moves onto the dancefloor without a word. Jihoon’s stiffer this time around, half of his attention spent on observing Seungcheol’s movement mirroring his own. Seungcheol does his best to keep up with steps he hasn’t fully memorized yet; he knows he’s lacking in presence, in timing, but that’s what this is for, isn’t it?

When the music fades out again, Seungcheol wipes sweat off his brow with the back of his arm. Jihoon stares at their bodies in the mirror and, again, Seungcheol wishes he could hear Jihoon’s thoughts. There’s only so much he can tell just by looking.

Jihoon pushes his hair out of his face, and it defies gravity for a few moments, heavy with sweat.

“Again,” he says, glancing at Seungcheol’s eyes in the mirror.

Seungcheol holds back a sigh and nods.

They’ve finished their eighth run when Seungcheol collapses into a heap on the floor. Jihoon observes him from a few feet away, his back against the mirror and sweat running down his face in rivulets.

“You’re a stubborn fucker, you know that?” Seungcheol manages between shallow breaths.

The corners of Jihoon’s mouth twitch upwards and Seungcheol’s heart beats even faster.

“It’s worth it,” Jihoon assures him.

Seungcheol huffs. His uneven breathing breaks off into laughter until he’s just a shaking mess on the floor, clothes and hair clinging to his heated skin. He feels a bit validated, at least, when he feels the slight vibration of Jihoon laughing as well.

He looks up when he feels something cool against his temple. Jihoon crouches by his head and offers him a water bottle.

“Hold it there for a bit, yeah?” Seungcheol murmurs.

Jihoon rolls his eyes but complies.

The cool condensation against the unrelenting heat of his overworked body is nothing short of a blessing. Out of the corner of his eyes, Seungcheol can see Jihoon staring down at him in that quiet way of his, face completely blank, but something soft about the steadfast way he holds the water bottle to Seungcheol’s head.

Eventually, Jihoon’s patience runs out and he drops the water bottle by Seungcheol’s ear. He remains within reach, however, opting to drop onto his ass as he opens his water bottle. Seungcheol can hear the sound of Jihoon’s throat working as he downs the water at a greedy pace, can hear Jihoon's lungs straining as he holds his breath.

A cold shock rolls down Seungcheol's spine as something pushes his water bottle against his ear. As Seungcheol’s shoulders rise in defense, he glances up at Jihoon.

“Get up, you lazy ass,” Jihoon mutters around the bottle in his mouth.

Huffing, Seungcheol sits up. Jihoon’s eyes are on him as Seungcheol finally snatches up the water bottle to take long pulls from it.

One of Jihoon’s phantom hands hovers by Seungcheol’s shoulder, indecisive. Seungcheol wonders if Jihoon has momentarily forgotten that Seungcheol can see them, and he watches the otherworldly appendage with slight interest.

The hand finally makes up its mind and reaches out to adjust Seungcheol’s shirt on his shoulders. The other phantom hand snakes out to fix the other side. When Seungcheol’s chest begins to shake with laughter, they both pull back, and Jihoon looks at the ground.

Seungcheol grins. Sweat frames his mouth as he waits for Jihoon to look up at him again.

When Jihoon finally does, he scowls and bats at Seungcheol’s stomach, still trembling with mirth.

 

 

3.

 

Seokmin and Seungkwan are doing breathing exercises together on the other side of the room. Their eyes are attentive as they observe each other warm up.

Jeonghan and Jisoo aren’t too far away either. Seungcheol can smell the copper of Jisoo's guitar strings as his fingers glide over them with expert precision. Not unlike an excited puppy, Jeonghan sits next to him with his elbows on his knees, eyes glued to Jisoo's hands.

Seungcheol has no idea how he got roped into attending a practice session with the vocal team. He was assigned sound system control duty, but Jihoon’s hovering like a worried mother at just an arm’s length away.

“Are you okay?” Seungcheol asks. He means to say it as a joke, but Jihoon turns sharp eyes on him. Seungcheol smiles despite the blade pressed against his throat.

“I’m fine,” Jihoon says in reply. His tone is flat as usual, though his mouth is a steel trap just daring Seungcheol to take a step in the wrong direction.

Seungcheol throws a lazy peace sign. “If you say so, boss. Just let me know if you need me for anything.”

Jihoon seems to calm at the sound of Seungcheol’s casual tone. The tension in his shoulders wavers minutely before he turns away to check on his boys.

From across the room, Jeonghan looks away from Jihoon's approaching form to meet Seungcheol's eyes. When their gazes lock, he grins, much too cat-like, and winks. His smug expression doesn't last once Jihoon comes around and regards him with questioning eyes, but Seungcheol got a good enough look for the both of them.

Seungcheol rubs the back of his neck. Maybe he's a bit whipped. But if anyone were to take care of Jihoon, it ought to be him, right?

As Jihoon consults with his hyungs, Seungcheol takes a request from Seokmin and Seungkwan before settling down to fiddle with his phone. The restorative power of Seungkwan’s voice soothes him, fills his lungs with flower petals and fresh air, and honestly, hanging around the bunch of them isn't so bad.

Jihoon flutters off to talk to his dongsaengs and Jisoo and Jeonghan make their approach. For a second, Seungcheol feels like prey, and the deliberate weight of their steps doesn't help any.

"Playing DJ for today, Seungcheollie?" Jeonghan asks.

Seungcheol holds up his phone with a flick of his wrist. "Yep. Taking one for the team, as a good leader does."

Jisoo looks at him with appraising eyes. Although Jisoo hasn't said a word about having a power, Seungcheol can sense something _different_ about his aura: it's always moving, always shifting, reacting to every little change in the wind. It's similar to Seungcheol's that way, constantly reacting, but he's also certain they aren't alike at all.

Being near Jeonghan changes things. Their auras blend together, and while this is normal for Jeonghan considering his power, they don't split. If anything, they flourish as a result of their proximity. Jeonghan and Jisoo's auras are complementary, if Seungcheol had to pick a word. They're not the only ones who fit like puzzle pieces either, and Seungcheol has to wonder if it's all a result of working so close together or if it's what helped them work so well together in the first place.

"I guess there's nothing wrong with taking a break from work every now and then," Jisoo adds, wearing a grin that mirrors Jeonghan's.

"Like the two of you are doing right now?"

Jisoo's eyes crinkle with his growing grin. "Great minds think alike."

Something passes between Jeonghan and Jisoo's auras. It's fascinating to watch, even if the exchange lasts only a second: their colours move back and forth, blending with movement like ink in water. Jisoo's eyes are still sharp, though not in the same way as Jihoon's, Seungcheol thinks; Jihoon's are always weapons that get Seungcheol's blood pumping, and Jisoo's are the precise lines of a map, the edge of a ruler, the point of a compass.

Jeonghan smirks, and Seungcheol feels a bead of sweat roll down the back of his neck.

Jisoo plays a few chords in succession. Seungcheol can't recognize them, but he has a feeling they're from the latest hit love song.

"But, seriously, we're here to practice, so." Jeonghan gestures vaguely at Seungcheol's phone. "Get going, Mr. DJ."

Rolling his eyes, Seungcheol turns on their latest single and watches as the duo returns to their post on the other side of the room. Their sweet voices dance around each other like something out of a movie. Seungcheol's gut twists, but just slightly, small enough for him to push the thought out of his head.

Jihoon returns to Seungcheol's side, his bottom lip caught between his teeth in a thoughtful expression. Seungcheol watches as wrinkles form across the pink skin like ivy crawling along a wall.

"Hyung," Jihoon says, his pink lips parting, "will you help me practice?"

Seungcheol blinks. "I haven't finished writing my part yet," Seungcheol replies. Jihoon should know; he reminded Seungcheol of the due date earlier that day.

"I know," Jihoon says. He bites his lip again, eyes flickering away for a second. "I meant with the harmony. You do the lower parts well."

"Oh."

The gears in Seungcheol's head halt, and then they're running at a breakneck speed.

Jihoon and Seungcheol have been singing together for years. Although they don't do it much nowadays, Seungcheol knows Jihoon's voice like the back of his hand. Jihoon's not asking him for much, but something wraps tight around his stomach anyway.

Both of Jihoon's phantom hands are clasped around each other and Jihoon's aura quivers with apprehension, as if rain were falling on it and bouncing off in tiny drops.

Seungcheol grins so wide his cheeks hurt.

"Of course, Jihoonie."

Jihoon crosses his arms over his chest, but his phantom hands don't lie: they fall limply to his sides with relief.

"You're too happy about this," Jihoon says, but he's leaning over Seungcheol's shoulder to poke at his phone screen.

"I like to sing," Seungcheol protests, "I am an idol, after all."

"I know," Jihoon deadpans. "Then you should practice more."

"I'm practicing now, aren't I?"

Jihoon snorts. "Smartass."

Seungcheol just grins.

When the opening notes of the song start to play, he turns eager eyes on his dongsaeng. Jihoon meets his gaze, the corners of his mouth turned up and his dimples faintly present.

Jihoon's voice washes over Seungcheol and surrounds him until he's drowning in leagues and leagues of wonder. His eyes must be too honest because Jihoon looks away after a few lines, but he can't keep his eyes away for long; when Seungcheol begins his harmony, their gazes meet, gauging each other. At first, Seungcheol feels nervous under the scrutiny, though when he remembers this is for Jihoon's benefit, he straightens up.

When Jihoon's part ends, he takes Seungcheol's shoulders with his phantom hands. He smooths down the wrinkles in Seungcheol's shirt before leaning forward to slip Seungcheol's phone out of his grip.

"Again," Jihoon says, and Seungcheol is more than happy to comply.

 

 

4.

 

"You're flat," Jihoon says, pointing at Wonwoo. He turns his sharp gaze onto Seokmin next. "And you, you're straining too much."

All of the members are present in the practice room. Seungcheol pulls at the bottom of his shirt as he watches Jihoon throw comments like stones.

Jihoon's steps are heavy as he stalks across the room, making remarks on each of the members. Usually, Jihoon's criticisms are met warmly, seeing as they're meant for the benefit of the group. But now, five runs into the practice, the kids bristle under the pressure.

"How about we take a break for now, Jihoonie?" Soonyoung asks.

Jihoon's head snaps to face Soonyoung. "For what? We don't have long until promotions start, you know."

Soonyoung sighs. "You think it's better to burn out early? Come on," he says, lowering his tone, "one measly break won't hurt."

Jihoon closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Okay, yeah. Sure." He pushes his bangs out of his face as the members file out of the room without throwing him so much as a second glance.

Seungcheol approaches Jihoon carefully. Jihoon looks up at him with tired eyes and his phantom hands reach out to hold onto the hem of Seungcheol's shirt.

"I'm worried," Jihoon mutters.

"I know," Seungcheol replies, "but it's going to be alright. We have time to work it out."

"Do we?"

"A week is plenty of time."

All Jihoon does in reply is hum. His grip on Seungcheol's shirt tightens and loosens at random, and his nervous energy colours his aura a pale yellow.

Seungcheol reaches out and takes Jihoon's physical hands into his grip. Jihoon stiffens at the contact, but it's not long before he deflates and leans into Seungcheol's side. Jihoon's shoulder is small and warm against Seungcheol's chest.

"Soonyoung's right, you know," Seungcheol starts, and Jihoon sighs again, all of the air leaving his lungs in one breath.

"I know." Jihoon turns so that his cheek is pressed against Seungcheol's shirt. "I just—everything needs to be _good_."

"It is good, Jihoon."

"Then it needs to be better."

Seungcheol squeezes Jihoon's hands. "You're such a hardass."

For a moment, Jihoon remains quiet. "I don't mean to be," he says after a while. "At least—not so much. I need to be a bit of a hardass to get them to listen."

"We think the world of you, Jihoonie," Seungcheol murmurs. "We'd listen to you regardless."

Jihoon lifts his head. His eyes hold heavy tension that even an extra set of hands can't keep up forever.

"Are you sure you're in a position to talk for everyone in that case?" Jihoon asks. His tone borders on teasing, and Seungcheol can't help but laugh.

"I'd sure hope so," Seungcheol replies.

Jihoon hums again. "If I'm a hardass," Jihoon begins, "then you must be made of marshmallows, or something."

With a grin, Seungcheol says, "Well, someone's gotta balance you out, right?"

"I thought Soonyoung was in charge of that."

"If _I'm_ marshmallows, then Soonyoung's, like, jelly. Or—"

"Don't say it—" Jihoon warns, lifting a hand to reach for Seungcheol's mouth.

" _Jam jam_ ," Seungcheol finishes behind Jihoon's palm, satisfied.

Jihoon heaves a heavy sigh. He removes his hand from Seungcheol's mouth, though he takes a moment to tuck some of Seungcheol's hair behind his ear before settling down again. Warmth flutters in Seungcheol's stomach and all he can do is grin so, so widely.

Seungcheol hears approaching footsteps down the hall, so he takes Jihoon's shoulders in his hands. Wearing a questioning expression, Jihoon looks up at him, pink lips slightly parted.

"Jihoon-ah," Seungcheol breathes. He rubs his thumbs into Jihoon's shoulders.

Jihoon's brow furrows. "Yes?"

Seungcheol grins. "You've got, like, a tiny bit of rice stuck in your hair," he says loudly, glancing over the top of Jihoon's head to meet the eyes of the members walking into the room.

"What."

Seungcheol picks at the imaginary food in Jihoon's hair and pretends to flick it into the distance.

"Don't worry, your secret's safe with me," Seungcheol says.

"What."

"Happens to the best of us, really!"

Jihoon runs careful hands through his hair as Jeonghan and Jisoo walk in, shoulders knocking as they share steps and space. Seungcheol shoots them a lazy grin as they adopt mirrored smug expressions like a couple of scheming cats.

"Coddling our dear leader, are we?" Jeonghan asks.

"I'm your leader too, you know," Seungcheol replies, pouting.

Jisoo comes up to Jihoon's side, his partner flanking Jihoon opposite him. Both Jeonghan and Jisoo observe their dongsaeng, and Seungcheol can easily visualize them with long tails waving with curiosity.

When they're apart like this, Jisoo and Jeonghan's auras are taut as they fight to maintain their connection. The colour exchange is slower, but present nonetheless, moving around Jihoon to avoid interference.

"But Jihoon's _our_ leader." Jisoo looks over at Seungcheol with smiling eyes. "If you mess with him, you mess with us."

"What the hell are you two talking about?" Jihoon asks with a raised eyebrow.

Jeonghan loops his arms around Jihoon's shoulders. Jihoon only bristles slightly.

"If Seungcheollie here is picking on you, just let us know and we'll take care of him for you," Jeonghan explains, his voice dripping with honey.

Jihoon's other eyebrow joins the first under his bangs. "You don't think I can take him on myself?"

"We didn't say that," Jisoo responds. "He's just not worth your time."

"Hey!" Seungcheol exclaims.

Jihoon laughs and bats at Jeonghan's arms. "You guys are ridiculous," Jihoon says, but he's smiling.

That smile elicits warmth in Seungcheol's stomach again. The pout on Seungcheol's face remains as he ponders the degrees of how fucked he is.

"You guys are mean," Seungcheol says.

Jeonghan releases Jihoon to latch onto Seungcheol's wrist instead.

"You love us," Jeonghan replies.

"One of us especially," Jisoo pipes up, taking Seungcheol's other wrist.

Seungcheol can't deny that.

"Come on, guys, let's get back to work," Jihoon calls. He easily catches his members' attention, and they nod at him with determination etched into their features.

With the ease of practice, Jihoon counts them off, and they launch into movement. Seungcheol takes it as a welcome distraction from the fire burning in his gut.

 

 

5.

 

If someone were to ask Seungcheol to explain his power, he wouldn't know where to start. The first word that always comes to mind is "overwhelming", but that doesn't even begin to describe it.

It fills him with wonder when he's not busy trying to keep his head in order. He can perceive things so small, things like the flutter of a butterfly's wings, things like wind rolling through grass, things like someone's breath whistling past their teeth. There's so much to see and hear and smell, and when he can actually figure it all out, he feels smarter for it, too. But that's a burden in itself: he knows so much more than he ought to, he thinks.

His skin prickles as he listens to a familiar set of footsteps. They're heavier than usual right now, and he figures it has to do with the fact that the group is having their daily break time.

With promotions coming up, Jihoon has been high strung, even more so than usual. It's Seungcheol's duty to look after his members, but when it comes to Jihoon, Seungcheol has slowly been coming to terms with the fact that it might be a little more than that.

Or maybe it's a lot more. Seungcheol isn't counting.

Not right now, anyway.

Jihoon isn't exactly an enigma, not after all this time, but he's still rough around the edges. It doesn't make Seungcheol's chances any better—or any worse, if he's honest—but it fills Seungcheol with apprehension nonetheless. He can only imagine how Jihoon would react to one of his members confessing to him out of the blue.

Seungcheol rubs the back of his neck as the footsteps grow louder. Maybe it's not _out of the blue_ either, but he doesn't want to get ahead of himself.

Earlier, Jihoon had texted him, "let's go for a ride." Neither of them have a car, but it's not much trouble to rent one, and Seungcheol likes driving, so he had no objections.

Then again, he's never been very good at saying no to Jihoon, romance or whatever aside. Or maybe that should've been a sign—Seungcheol doesn't know. His head has always been a mess of knotted thoughts, ideas, perceptions, and he's never had the time to untangle anything, much less his feelings towards Jihoon.

Seungcheol waves from his position against the car's hood when Jihoon pops his head out the door. One of Jihoon's loose ear buds flaps around as Jihoon waves back.

"Where to?" Seungcheol asks as he unlocks the doors.

"You pick."

"How gracious of you."

They both slide into the car at the same time. Jihoon lifts an eyebrow at Seungcheol when their eyes meet.

"I was thinking of somewhere with nice scenery," Seungcheol states, starting the engine.

"Sure," Jihoon replies. That was easy. Then again, as the passenger, it's not like Jihoon can do much, anyway.

Probably.

Jihoon makes up for it by taking over the aux cord. It's fine; Seungcheol could go without the distraction. He can hear the slight static the speakers make when Jihoon pulls the jack close to his phone, and he can hear the slide of Jihoon's fingers over the screen. His eyes are briefly overwhelmed with the lights all around him—traffic lights, headlights, sunlight reflected across various smooth surfaces—before he reins his body in.

As Seungcheol shakes his head a little, Jihoon glances over at him. Everyone in the group knows of Seungcheol's power, and Jihoon's pretty good at picking up Seungcheol's signs of distress. It comes from their time together, not really a complementary power or anything; Seokmin's better at reading him, naturally, and Jisoo, and even Jeonghan, too.

Jihoon wasn't _engineered_ to be close with Seungcheol, not like Jisoo and Jeonghan, or Hansol and Seungkwan. Things like that make Seungcheol second-guess—what fates are out there trying to mess with him? On the other hand, he’ll never know, and waiting around to find out feels counter-productive, if anything. Either way, that’s yet another item on the list of reasons why Seungcheol hasn't said anything about anything yet.

Seungcheol rolls down his window and squints against the wind. Feeling the wind blow through his hair makes it worth it, and Jihoon seems to agree, his own head peeking out.

When they pull up at a park, the sun has started to set. The sky is a spectrum of colour, reds and oranges and yellows and purples and pinks that Seungcheol can't even begin to count. This must be where auras come from, Seungcheol thinks, because the only thing that can come close to comparison is the variety of hues found in a person. Maybe that's what these powers are: fragments from the sky given to them because the earth couldn't hold them all.

Seungcheol shakes his head again. He ought to save the poetry for his lyrics.

Jihoon throws Seungcheol a lazy peace sign before heading off. Just for the sake of it, Seungcheol walks in the opposite direction.

They'll find each other again. The point of this is to be alone, anyway.

As the distance grows between them, Seungcheol loses bits and pieces of Jihoon's presence, but it's a slow process. First, he loses the sound of Jihoon's breathing. Then he loses the sound of Jihoon's footsteps. Last is Jihoon's scent, laundry detergent with hints of paper and dust. Seungcheol's nose itches just thinking about it.

Nature's complexity gives him a few moments of reprieve. His aura feeds him a multitude of sensations, ranging from the flicker of sunlight through the leaves to the shuffle of bugs through the grass to the scent of pollen drifting through the air. Fog fills his head as his brain tries to sort through everything at once, and he welcomes it.

Eventually, his steps lead him to Jihoon. The colour of his aura against the canvas of the sky catches his attention first: it’s a mixture of calm blues that blends with the night creeping on the horizon.

Seungcheol slips onto the other side of the bench Jihoon occupies. Jihoon has his hands in his pockets and his head is bowed. The wires of his earbuds trail out the hole of his hood before disappearing down his sweater.

There’s no indication that Jihoon heard Seungcheol’s approach, so Seungcheol remains quiet and draws his legs up to his chest, balancing his heels against the edge of the bench.

Quiet bathes them from head to toe. Seungcheol’s attention strays to the stream in front of them, and he watches with mild interest as a few fish travel through the water. It doesn’t take long for him to grow bored: he shuffles over to Jihoon, legs still propped up, and pokes his dongsaeng’s shoulder.

Jihoon jumps and rips out his earbuds.

“Fuck’s sake, hyung,” Jihoon gasps. Seungcheol giggles and bites his bottom lip.

“Relax, it’s just me,” Seungcheol replies with a shit-eating grin.

Grumbling, Jihoon smacks Seungcheol’s shoulder. His phantom hands get to work on untangling his earbuds so he can shove them into his pocket.

“Don’t you know not to bother someone wearing headphones?” Jihoon mutters.

“Oh, I know.”

Jihoon turns to glare at him. His bangs, pressed flat under his hood, render the expression useless.

“Good for nothing hyung…” Jihoon sighs. Seungcheol shuffles closer, and Jihoon moves to lean his head on Seungcheol’s shoulder.

“You look like a gremlin, sitting like that,” Jihoon adds.

“Nice. Let’s use it for our next concept.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Seungcheol barks a laugh.

“Come on, gremlin choreo? Soonyoungie makes me kneel so much we might as well do it.”

It’s Jihoon’s turn to laugh. “What did he say about that? That your legs were your ‘greatest asset’?” One of Jihoon’s phantom hands settles on Seungcheol’s knee. “What good do these do besides make you stupidly tall?”

“I’m not ‘stupidly tall’. I’m just taller than _you_.”

“Anyone taller than me is stupidly tall.”

“That makes, like, seventy percent of the population stupidly tall.”

“So?”

The touch on Seungcheol’s leg is featherlight and slightly warm. Jihoon’s body heat is warmer, pressed against Seungcheol’s side, but the hand on his knee thrills him nonetheless.

How easy is he?

“They’re good for plenty of things,” Seungcheol says. “For example, my thighs make an excellent seat for dogs and cats.” Amongst other things.

“I guess you’re useful for getting things that are high up,” Jihoon admits.

“The list goes on and on.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

Seungcheol hums and chooses to ignore him. “The sky is pretty,” he says instead, making no move to disguise the marvel in his tone.

The hand on Seungcheol’s knee shifts, but remains a warm and steady presence on Seungcheol’s body. Jihoon tugs his hood lower over his forehead. “You gonna write a poem about it?”

“I could,” Seungcheol replies, thinking of the first syllable in the word ‘sun’.

Jihoon presses a hand against Seungcheol’s mouth. “Don’t start,” Jihoon warns.

It’s easy to pry Jihoon’s hand out of his face, and Seungcheol holds onto his wrist with a grin. “And what if I do?”

Jihoon’s fingers wiggle as he scowls. “You’re annoying,” he mutters. With his free hand, he cups the back of Seungcheol’s neck. “Do you ever know when to shut up?”

Seungcheol’s breath catches in his throat. He can hear the sound of his lungs working overtime. It’s dizzying just to look at Jihoon from this distance—or rather, this proximity. At this point, he can only guess what his face gives away; Jihoon’s lips curve in a smirk.

There could be worse things than this—worse things than being caught in the plush, pink trap that’s Jihoon’s mouth.

“Is that it?” Jihoon strokes his thumb across the nape of Seungcheol’s neck. “I haven’t even done anything yet and you’re already tongue-tied.”

Tongue-tied. That’s a choice phrase. Seungcheol swallows, and the sound of his saliva moving down his dry throat echoes in his own ears.

Jihoon drags his tongue over his bottom lip as if he knows what Seungcheol’s thinking about. Seungcheol’s eyes follow the movement without hesitation.

Jihoon laughs and lowers his head, hiding those pink lips, relieving some of the tension from Seungcheol’s tight chest.

“Do you have any idea…” Seungcheol can barely speak, his mouth is so dry. He swallows again, but he loses his tongue somewhere in the back of his throat.

Jihoon clicks his tongue, chiding. “And here I thought you were finally gonna shut up.” He shifts his weight onto his knees, rising so that he’s eye-level with Seungcheol. His hand is burning hot against Seungcheol’s neck. “Or am I gonna have to do that myself?”

Seungcheol’s heart rattles his ribcage with its frantic pounding; he swears he can almost hear it.

“Big words,” Seungcheol starts, and he couldn’t care less about the way his voice wavers, “from someone so small.”

Jihoon scowls. “And you’ve got a big mouth,” he spits. Both of Jihoon’s phantom hands come up to grip Seungcheol’s shoulders, thumbs pressed against the column of his throat. “A big, stupid, pretty mouth.”

Jihoon pulls him down for a firm kiss. Everything about Jihoon is impossibly soft despite the way he’s so hard around the edges, callous words and relentless drive and unyielding stubbornness. His pink lips are soft, the insides of his palms are soft where he holds Seungcheol in place, and his aura is featherlight as it wraps delicately around Seungcheol’s body. Despite his small stature, Jihoon seems to envelop Seungcheol with no problem.

Seungcheol barely gets a chance to catch his breath before Jihoon pulls him down again, moving his hands to cradle Seungcheol’s jaw instead. His fingers are gentle against Seungcheol’s cheeks, and Seungcheol can’t help but smile against Jihoon’s mouth.

“What’s so funny?” Jihoon asks. His voice is thick, which only makes Seungcheol’s smile widen.

“Nothing,” he replies with as much innocence as he can muster. “I’m just,” he pauses to sigh, “I’m just happy.”

Sure, flirting and kissing and fucking around doesn’t make Jihoon bat a goddamn eye, but this little confession manages to coax a flush to Jihoon’s skin.

“You’re an idiot,” Jihoon mutters. He lifts one of his hands from Seungcheol’s jaw to wipe his mouth.

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot.”

“Are you, now?” Jihoon sounds dazed as he looks at the back of his hand. He blinks a few times before finding Seungcheol’s gaze again. “Was that supposed to seal the deal or something?”

Seungcheol’s smile dims a bit. “I’d sure hope so,” he replies slowly.

Jihoon purses his lips. “Don’t go all kicked puppy on me, Seungcheol-ah,” he mumbles, “I was kidding.”

“You sure didn’t look like it.”

The blush on Jihoon’s face darkens. “Fuck off. I just wasn’t—I wasn’t expecting _that_.”

Seungcheol flutters his eyelashes a little bit. Just a little. “Wasn’t expecting what?”

Seungcheol only captures a glimpse of Jihoon’s answering scowl before it disappears against Seungcheol’s lips. Jihoon’s tongue in his mouth is demanding and impatient, but then again, Jihoon’s like that on the regular. It’s part of his charm, somehow.

When they separate, Seungcheol’s panting.

“See,” Jihoon says, poking Seungcheol’s heaving chest.

Once Jihoon looks up and catches Seungcheol’s gaze again, Seungcheol gives him a lazy grin, smug and satisfied. It’s not long before Jihoon grins back.

Seungcheol exhales loudly and loops his arms loosely around Jihoon’s little waist.

“You’re going to be the death of me one day, Woozi-ssi,” Seungcheol says, and Jihoon rolls his eyes at the name. “But,” he adds, “I think there could be worse ways to go.”

“You give me too much credit,” Jihoon replies.

Seungcheol leans in and presses his nose against Jihoon’s heated cheek. “I don’t think I give you nearly enough credit, Jihoonie.”

When he kisses Jihoon again, getting lost in that plush, pink trap once more, Jihoon doesn’t seem to have any intents of letting him go. And in all honesty, he’s more than fine with that.

 

 

+1

 

Seungcheol's power is beyond overwhelming. It buries him in layers and layers of sensation, and sometimes—or maybe all the time, Seungcheol doesn't fucking know—being surrounded by twelve other people constantly emitting some sort of stimulus just fucking gets to him.

He didn’t have to say anything to get the rest of the members out of the dorm. He needs the building absolutely clear to minimize the potential stress.

Even sitting alone in his room was too much. The ticking of the clock, wind against his window, even every little brush of his sheets against his skin irritated him. It led him to the bathroom, where he filled up the tub wearing headphones to block out the crash of the water against porcelain.

Keeping his head underwater is effective at blocking out most of his senses. The problem is that he can’t keep it there very long.

His arms are draped over the back of the tub with water up to his ears. Staring at the tepid water isn’t proving to be very interesting, but he’s unsure he’s up to doing anything else. He’s also pretty sure that sitting there for too long is bad for him, probably.

With wet fingers, he wipes at the back of his eyes and focuses on the slide of stray water down the sides of his face. He’d be asleep right now if he could manage it. Shriveling up alone in a bathtub isn’t his idea of a good time.

A knock at the dorm’s front door catches his attention. The distance is enough to cushion the sound so that it’s not poking holes into Seungcheol’s eardrums. He recognizes the pattern of sound, as well as the footsteps that follow.

Sighing, Seungcheol sinks deeper into the tub, deep enough to blow bubbles. It’s Jihoon. Who else would have the audacity to bother him on one of his bad days?

And it’s not that Seungcheol doesn’t want to see him. It’s not that Seungcheol doesn’t want to see anyone at all, it’s just that he can’t really handle it at the moment, and he thought Jihoon would understand that. But, like he’s come to realize, he has a very bad track record of saying no to Jihoon.

Jihoon’s footsteps thud immensely through the quiet of the building. Seungcheol tilts his head back so that his ears are covered by water.

“Cheol-ah?” says Jihoon, his voice tentative as it floats through the door.

Ever since they started dating—more or less, though they haven’t really put any labels on it yet—Jihoon has dropped the ‘hyung’ title altogether. But ‘Cheol’ is something he saves for when they’re alone.

It’s enough to bring a smile to Seungcheol’s face. Maybe Jihoon is just what he needs.

“Jihoonie,” Seungcheol calls back.

“Is it okay for me to come in?”

“It’s unlocked,” Seungcheol replies.

Jihoon opens the door slowly. His bare feet pad quietly across the tile as he enters the room, keeping his distance just to be safe.

Seungcheol turns towards the door and lays his cheek against the edge of the tub. “How’d you know I was in here?” he asks.

Jihoon’s eyes are on the floor. “I couldn’t hear you anywhere else in the dorm. Besides, what else is there to do in here besides sleep or laze around in your room?”

“You know me too well,” Seungcheol purrs.

Humming, Jihoon takes a few steps closer. “Are you feeling better?”

Seungcheol hums back. “A little. The bath helped.”

Jihoon’s eyes flicker upward to glance at the tub in question, but he looks away just as quickly. Still, despite his bashful appearance, he continues to sneak closer and closer.

“Did you want to join me?” Seungcheol asks with a smirk.

At that, Jihoon’s eyes snap to meet Seungcheol’s. “What kind of pervert do you think I am?”

Shrugging, Seungcheol replies, “I don’t know, you’re the one who came to see me in the bathroom while everyone else knew better than to bother me when my brain’s being shitty.”

Jihoon flushes a pretty pink. “I just wanted to check up on you, that’s all,” he explains, but his feet betray him, bringing him close enough to balance his elbows on the tub.

“Check up on me, or check me out?”

Jihoon sighs and buries his face in one of his hands. After a few deep breaths, he seems to gather some of his composure, and he lowers his hands to cup Seungcheol’s jaw. His touch is delicate as he handles Seungcheol like some precious artefact.

“Jihoon,” Seungcheol murmurs, just because he can, just because he likes the feel of the syllables in his mouth, just because he likes the way Jihoon reacts with his entire body, shivers up to his ears, flushes in a way that frames those pretty pink lips.

As Jihoon runs his thumbs over Seungcheol’s cheeks, his other hands come up to smooth down Seungcheol’s wet shoulders. Water seems attracted to Jihoon’s aura, and it makes the hues in his energy shine a little brighter.

Seungcheol shivers. Feeling Jihoon’s extra hands on his skin is still new to him.

“Cheol,” Jihoon answers. He tips Seungcheol’s chin up to press a light kiss against his mouth. “You might as well’ve set me up here, with the whole bath thing and all.”

Quirking a brow, Seungcheol nips at Jihoon’s bottom lip. “You say that as if I were in here for fun and not to, you know, try and get my head in order.”

Jihoon pulls away and runs his thumbs over Seungcheol’s cheeks again. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “sorry. I know. That’s why I’m here—” The flush in his face darkens. “I was… I was hoping to cheer you up. Maybe.”

“Tsundere to the last moment, huh?” Seungcheol lifts a hand out of the water to cup Jihoon’s neck. Water drips onto Jihoon’s shoulder, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Shut up.” Jihoon leans forward and presses his mouth to Seungcheol’s forehead. “But still, the whole bath thing _is_ pretty convenient.”

“So you thought that messing around would cure this?”

Jihoon scowls. “I wasn’t gonna skip straight ahead to that part. I was gonna, you know—” he gestures with his phantom hands, waving his fingers as if he was kneading bread. “Offer a massage, maybe. If you felt up to it. The messing around part was supposed to come after.”

“So me being naked guarantees the messing around part, is that what you’re saying?”

“Are you saying it doesn’t?”

Seungcheol chuckles. “Well, no. I guess I’m not.”

Pursing his lips, Jihoon leans back and smooths some of Seungcheol’s hair out of his eyes. “Exactly. Now, do you need help getting out?”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “I’m fine, thanks. But could you grab me that towel?”

Jihoon walks away with some reluctance and heads towards the indicated towel. Seungcheol’s clothes are piled next to it in a heap. “I guess there’s no point in bothering with these?”

“Be a dear and bring them back with you. No need to be a slob about it.”

Seungcheol can practically hear Jihoon’s eyeroll. Honestly, he almost _can_ hear it—he can sense the muscles in Jihoon’s eyes moving, which, while not precisely _hearing_ per se, is pretty damn close.

As the drain chokes down water, Jihoon approaches Seungcheol with the towel. Grimacing, Seungcheol takes it and covers his ears with it. Both of them stare at the water with accusatory eyes, willing it to go down faster.

However, Jihoon’s attention is eventually caught by Seungcheol’s state of undress. His eyes float around Seungcheol’s chest, following the subtle lines of his muscles down the length of his body, before darting away.

Seungcheol pinches Jihoon’s cheek, earning him a yelp.

“No need to be shy, Hoonie,” Seungcheol purrs. “It’s not a secret that you like my hot bod.”

Jihoon grimaces up at him. “I don’t ever want to hear those words come out of your mouth ever again. Please.”

Seungcheol grins. “Well, since you asked so nicely.”

Once the water’s mostly drained, Seungcheol occupies himself with drying his body with the towel. Jihoon leans his elbows on the tub and watches with a blank face. The only thing that gives him away is the bright red blush on his face, emitting enough heat to warm Seungcheol’s skin.

When Seungcheol wraps the towel around his waist, he feels Jihoon’s eyes slide back up to his face.

“Here,” Jihoon says, holding a hand out, “I insist. My _dear_.”

Seungcheol takes the hand as he manoeuvres his body out of the tub. “Would it kill you to sound like you actually like me?” he asks.

“That implies I actually like you.” Jihoon’s grip is solid around Seungcheol’s hand. “What if I only like you for—what did you call it, your ‘hot bod’?”

It sounds ridiculous coming out of Jihoon’s mouth in that dry tone of his. Seungcheol’s laughter quickly transforms into something else as his head starts to spin on his shoulders, but then there are hands on him, a few too many hands, and that’s so inherently _Jihoon_ that Seungcheol wants to throw up a little.

“Hey,” Jihoon murmurs. Someone of his stature ought to have more trouble handling Seungcheol’s weight. “Hey, Cheol-ah. You okay?”

Seungcheol swallows a deep gulp of breath, shaking his head. Jihoon cards fingers through Seungcheol’s hair and helps him lean his weight against the tub as Seungcheol fights to catch his breath.

“How long were you in there? Fuck’s sake.” Jihoon fusses in such an impatient way, patting Seungcheol’s skin as if it’s meant to heal him on the spot. “Hey. Let’s go lie down, alright?”

Once Seungcheol’s lungs figure out what the fuck they’re doing, Seungcheol pushes his hair out of his face and purses his lips at Jihoon. “I’m not an invalid,” he whines.

“You looked like you were gonna die, Cheollie.” Jihoon looks and sounds unimpressed.

“Don’t exaggerate.”

Still, he appreciates the warm arms around his waist as Jihoon leads him down the hall. Their height difference doesn’t help much with his balance issues, but at least Jihoon seems to have steady steps. Seungcheol’s heart beats loudly in his chest, and the rush of blood in his veins rings in his ears.

Lying down helps. Jihoon helps Seungcheol onto his back before leaning over him. There’s a hand pushing back Seungcheol’s damp bangs, a hand cradling the back of his head, a hand warm against his stomach, and the last one’s not accounted for.

Seungcheol squints up at Jihoon, and it’s a little weird since it’s usually the other way around.

“Sorry for being so useless today,” Seungcheol whispers.

Jihoon clicks his tongue. The way he’s combing his fingers through Seungcheol’s hair calms Seungcheol’s racing heart.

“Just shut up for once, for fuck’s sake,” Jihoon grumbles.

Seungcheol manages a smile. “Hey, if I remember right, my inability to shut up led us here in the first place.”

“You’re not wrong about that,” Jihoon replies with a wry smile of his own. His hand falls from Seungcheol’s bangs to cup his cheek. “Still. Don’t fucking apologize. It’s not like you can help whatever it is your head’s doing.”

Humming, Seungcheol lets his eyes fall shut. There’s one source of stimuli down, and he can focus on the feel of Jihoon’s hands on his skin with a little more clarity.

“Yeah,” Seungcheol says. “It just sucks.”

“I know, Cheollie. I wish you didn’t have to have days like this.”

Seungcheol turns his head in Jihoon’s grip and presses a kiss to Jihoon’s palm.

“You’re a sap,” Jihoon mumbles. He turns Seungcheol’s head back around to drop a kiss onto his lips.

“I’m _your_ sap.”

“Guess you are,” Jihoon replies against Seungcheol’s mouth.

They kiss languidly for a few moments. The softness of Jihoon’s lips has a lulling quality to it that Seungcheol would feel guilty about if it weren’t for the fact that he’d been searching for sleep for hours.

“I’m gonna fall asleep,” Seungcheol warns.

Jihoon kisses him again. “Good,” he whispers, and Seungcheol can feel the beginnings of a smile on Jihoon’s lips. It’s the last thing he can remember before he drifts off.

When Seungcheol wakes up, Jihoon’s nestled into his side and scrolling his through phone. He can feel the minute contraction of Jihoon’s muscles as he breathes, but the nap seems to have helped his head’s ability to ingest this information; he just files it away as normal rather than letting it consume his senses.

Seungcheol yawns. Jihoon glances up from his phone for a second before returning to whatever it is he’s doing.

After pressing a peck to Jihoon’s hair, Seungcheol asks, “What’s up?”

Jihoon doesn’t look up. “The others are wondering what happened to me. Soonyoung seems intent on asking me details about our sex life that I don’t plan on disclosing, like, ever. _Especially_ not over text.”

“What sex life?”

“The one involving you and a convenient excuse to get the members out of the dorm.”

“That’s cold,” Seungcheol comments. He gropes around for his phone, and Jihoon reaches over him and hands it to him.

“I think he’s joking,” Jihoon says. “I sure hope so.”

Seungcheol unlocks his phone and looks through his messages. There’s a string of texts from both Jisoo and Jeonghan wishing him well and updating him about the kids’ antics. There are also a few messages from both Junhui and Minghao apologizing for their leader’s inappropriate behaviour, blaming boredom and Soonyoung’s love of bothering Jihoon.

“Minghao and Junhui say sorry on his behalf,” Seungcheol says.

“I know. Soonyoung’s just being Soonyoung.”

Seungcheol turns onto his side and wraps his arms around Jihoon’s waist. Jihoon adjusts his weight to accommodate Seungcheol’s body, though now his elbows are against Seungcheol’s sternum and his phone is right under Seungcheol’s chin.

“We could give you something to write about,” Seungcheol suggests.

Jihoon’s eyes flicker upwards. “You’re not feeling well,” Jihoon states.

“I feel better now.”

“You fell asleep while kissing me,” Jihoon says, returning his gaze to his phone. “I thought that was a clear enough sign that you didn’t actually want to do anything.”

Although Jihoon has a point, Seungcheol also thinks that giving up this time alone would be a waste. Living with eleven other boys leaves them with no choice but to sneak around.

Seungcheol slips his hands under Jihoon’s shirt and rubs the ridges of Jihoon’s hips.

“Seungcheol,” Jihoon warns, looking up again.

“Come on, Jihoon.” Seungcheol pouts. “What happened to your grand plans of seducing me to make me feel better?”

Despite the colour that rises to Jihoon’s cheeks, he frowns. “They were abandoned in favour of getting you to lie down and not throw up all over the place.”

Seungcheol’s hands still. “Was it that bad?” he asks.

Sighing, Jihoon lowers his phone. “You looked really pale,” he explains. “And your eyes were kinda watery.”

One of Jihoon’s phantom hands runs up the length of Seungcheol’s back. He’s mostly dry now, but he can feel some slight slickness against his skin under Jihoon’s touch, and he shivers against Jihoon’s body.

“But, Jihoonie,” Seungcheol whines, “I’m already naked, and we’re alone. We can go slow.”

Jihoon turns in Seungcheol’s grip to set his phone down.

“Are you sure?” Jihoon asks, cupping Seungcheol’s face.

Seungcheol’s response is to reach out and tug Jihoon into a kiss. He’ll never tire of this, he thinks; the plush press of Jihoon’s pink lips against his feels novel every time Seungcheol has the privilege to kiss him.

Jihoon arches up against Seungcheol’s chest and drags his fingers through Seungcheol’s hair. His hands settle behind Seungcheol’s ears as he slips his tongue into Seungcheol’s mouth, taking his time to taste him. Jihoon’s thorough with everything, does nothing half-assed, and Seungcheol happily unravels under him.

Two of Jihoon’s hands drop to the towel around Seungcheol’s waist. He tugs it out from under Seungcheol’s hips and tosses it over the side of the bed. Seungcheol gasps against Jihoon’s mouth as a delicate, ghostly touch travels up the length of his half-hard cock.

“Jihoon,” Seungcheol whimpers. Jihoon bites on Seungcheol’s bottom lip in response before sucking it into his mouth. A moan crawls out of Seungcheol’s throat and bounces around the room, followed closely by Seungcheol’s harsh breathing.

Jihoon’s phantom hands make minimal sound as they travel over Seungcheol’s skin. He’s still getting used to the sensation of someone’s aura wrapping around him: the weight is different, featherlight to the point where it feels as if it could break at any moment, and yet Jihoon’s touch is firm and insistent as ever. It doesn’t feel real. Then again, having Jihoon touch him like this doesn’t feel real, either; he swears he’s dreamt of this exact scenario a few times now.

Jihoon breaks away to sit up. He slips his shirt over his head, and Seungcheol moves his hands to supports Jihoon’s weight as Jihoon discards the rest of his clothes.

“What happened to going slow?” Seungcheol says between breaths.

“I’m just catching up to you,” Jihoon replies. Once he drops his clothes over the side of the bed, he settles his weight over Seungcheol’s thighs and leans down to kiss him again.

Seungcheol whines; he wanted the chance to look over Jihoon’s body now that he has the time to indulge himself. He whines for other reasons, too, like Jihoon’s thighs squeezing his hips and Jihoon’s hands sliding up the length of his stomach, but that’s the main thought lingering at the front of his mind.

With impatient hands, Seungcheol pushes gently at Jihoon’s chest. Jihoon sits up and quirks an eyebrow.

“Want to see,” Seungcheol says, since Jihoon’s not a mind-reader (unlike some other people).

Although a flush has made a home in Jihoon’s face for the time being, it seems he still has room to flush a deeper shade of red once he hears Seungcheol’s words. Jihoon bites his lip, and Seungcheol can tell he wants to say something, a protest most likely, by the way his throat works. He stays silent, however, as Seungcheol drags his gaze over Jihoon’s body starting from his hips.

Jihoon’s cock is already standing at attention, curved towards his stomach, wearing a flush that matches the one on his face. His stomach quivers ever so slightly as he pants for breath. His shoulders are stiff as he holds up his weight with his hands, his phantom hands curled gently against Seungcheol’s stomach.

“I could look at you for days,” Seungcheol says, mostly because he can, and also because he likes the way Jihoon ducks his head in embarrassment.

“Sap,” Jihoon mutters. One of his ghostly hands presses upwards, stopping short at Seungcheol’s ribs. “You’re the one with the muscles and the long legs and the brightass smile.” He squeezes Seungcheol’s thighs with his legs for emphasis.

“I guess that makes us one stunning couple, doesn’t it?” Seungcheol says with a grin.

Jihoon rolls his eyes, but when his gaze settles on Seungcheol’s face again, a radiant warmth settles in the folds of his lips, in the spaces between his eyelashes, in the crease of his eyelids. Looking up at him is like staring at the sun.

Seungcheol reaches up and cups one side of Jihoon’s jaw.

“I love you,” Seungcheol says.

For a second, Jihoon’s eyes widen. Then a smile curves his mouth, soft and small, but this time, he doesn’t look away.

“Of course you’d say this during sex,” Jihoon replies.

“I just wanted to let you know, in case you weren’t sure why we’re doing this.”

“I can think of a few other reasons why we’re doing this,” Jihoon says, tracing his fingers along the lines of Seungcheol’s stomach.

“Aren’t you gonna say it back?” Seungcheol prods, impatient.

“Calm down, god.” Jihoon bends at the waist to press a soft kiss to Seungcheol’s lips. “I love you too, Seungcheol. With all my heart.”

“You’re being sarcastic,” Seungcheol whines.

“But I said it, didn’t I?”

Seungcheol opens his mouth to object, but Jihoon descends upon him again, stealing his breath in one fell swoop. Jihoon finds Seungcheol’s hands and pins them above his head, lacing their fingers together.

“I love you, Seungcheol,” Jihoon murmurs into his cheek. The vibration penetrates through his skin and bones and settles heavily in Seungcheol’s stomach. “I love you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Seungcheol breathes in reply.

Jihoon kisses him again. Their bodies lie flush together as Jihoon presses his weight down, grinding their hips together, using his legs and his free hands to angle his body just so. With his hands occupied with Jihoon’s, Seungcheol can do nothing but moan and pant against Jihoon’s mouth.

Squeezing Seungcheol’s hands, Jihoon whispers, “You’re mine, you know that?” He lowers his mouth to bite Seungcheol’s neck. “All mine.” He drags his lips and teeth down the column of Seungcheol’s throat, leaving wet lines in his wake.

Jihoon kisses and nips his way down Seungcheol’s body. One of his extra hands grabs something out of a nearby dresser as he inches lower and lower.

Now that Seungcheol’s hands are free, he grips Jihoon’s shoulders and hangs on for dear life. His skin jumps as Jihoon marks the insides of his sensitive thighs, leaving nothing untouched, viciously and unapologetically thorough.

One set of hands holds Seungcheol’s hips in place as Jihoon kisses the head of Seungcheol’s erection. Seungcheol groans, loud and without restraint, the sound immense to his own ears.

As Jihoon takes Seungcheol’s cock into his mouth, one of Jihoon’s hands drifts down to the space between his thighs. A phantom hand nudges his leg upwards to bend at the knee while one of his physical hands presses along his entrance.

Jihoon pulls off Seungcheol with a wet noise.

“I didn’t ask, sorry,” Jihoon says. His voice is impossibly husky. “I don’t have a preference today, but do you?”

Seungcheol licks his lips. “You seem to be in a topping mood right now,” he says, and his own voice is raspy thanks to the ragged moans Jihoon’s been milking out of him.

“I’m taking care of you,” Jihoon replies. The way he smirks with Seungcheol’s cock right by his mouth sends a wave of heat through Seungcheol’s body. “Either way, I could continue with this,” and he presses against Seungcheol’s entrance again, “or I could ride you. Your choice.”

“So gracious today,” Seungcheol says. His intended teasing tone is lost to the roughness of his voice.

It’s a hard decision. He’d love to watch Jihoon bouncing on his lap, hands on his own cock as he chases his release. But he’d also love Jihoon pressing into him, filling him, lavishing his body with attention from his too-many hands.

The way Jihoon teases his entrance is starting to become distracting, so Seungcheol licks his lips one more time before deciding: “Keep going with that.”

“Alright,” Jihoon agrees easily. He drops a kiss to the thigh by his ear before dropping his head to suck Seungcheol’s cock back into his mouth.

The click of the lube opening echoes in the room, followed by the slick side of Jihoon’s fingers over Seungcheol’s skin. Seungcheol gasps at Jihoon’s cool touch.

Jihoon presses his tongue flat against the underside of Seungcheol’s cock, distracting him from the stretch of Jihoon’s fingers inside of him. The pace of Jihoon’s mouth quickens as he opens Seungcheol slowly, slowly.

“Jihoon,” Seungcheol moans. “Jihoon, please—”

Another finger makes its way into Seungcheol as Jihoon makes a questioning noise in the back of his throat. It vibrates around Seungcheol’s erection, pushing Seungcheol to the point of throwing his head back against the pillows.

“Close, Jihoon, close.” Seungcheol pants and heaves for breath, and Jihoon takes that as his cue to pull off.

“Hush, baby,” Jihoon murmurs, “you’re doing well.” His mouth is still too close to Seungcheol’s cock, and all Seungcheol can do in response is moan.

“Jihoon,” Seungcheol repeats. His vocabulary has been shaved off to simple sentences. “Come on. Come _on_. I’m good now, I’m good.”

“Are you?” Jihoon’s hand stills, though he doesn’t pull it out. His other hands stroke along the length of Seungcheol’s thighs, down the flat planes of Seungcheol’s stomach.

Seungcheol whines high in his throat. “Jihoon, come on. Don’t. Just—”

His voice drops off into a moan when Jihoon curls his fingers just so. Seungcheol would be annoyed if he had the capacity to be, especially with the way Jihoon’s smirking up at him.

“Okay, Cheollie. You _have_ been very good,” Jihoon purrs.

Though Seungcheol voices his disappointment when Jihoon slides his fingers out, it’s not long before the head of Jihoon’s cock presses against his entrance, distracting him.

“Are you sure?” Jihoon asks one last time.

Seungcheol kind of wants to punch him. Instead, he tilts his hips up, pushing at Jihoon’s cock.

“Hey,” Jihoon says. He takes Seungcheol’s hips into his hands, preventing Seungcheol from moving further. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“You’re being mean,” Seungcheol complains. “Come on, just go. I’m ready.”

“Impatient Cheol-ah.” Still, Jihoon complies; he pushes forward, slow and steady and much too mindful.

“Come _on_ ,” Seungcheol pants.

When Jihoon replies, his voice is strained. “You want more? Huh? Greedy Cheol.”

A growl brews in the bottom of Jihoon’s chest as he snaps his hips forward, burying his cock until his balls are flush against Seungcheol’s ass. Seungcheol cries out and clutches at the sheets.

“More!” Seungcheol shouts.

He loves this. He loves to poke and prod and egg Jihoon on, and Jihoon falls for it every time.

Jihoon’s face twists with effort as he shifts his weight. He grabs Seungcheol’s legs by the back of his knees and hoists them upward, and then he wraps his arms around Seungcheol’s thighs once Seungcheol throws them over Jihoon’s shoulders.

“Yes,” Seungcheol moans, “yes, Jihoon-ah, like that.”

There’s no breath left in Jihoon’s lungs to afford him an opportunity to reply. Instead, he works on building a brutal pace, pressing forward until Seungcheol’s bent at a harsh angle.

Pleasure floods Seungcheol’s senses. The slow burn of Jihoon stretching him out, the delicious friction of their bodies colliding, the firm grip Jihoon wraps him in—it all fuels the fire deep in his belly.

One of Jihoon’s extra hands wraps around Seungcheol’s cock. Thanks to its composition, Jihoon doesn’t need a whole lot of lube to work it up and down Seungcheol’s length with ease. The rhythm of both Jihoon’s hand and his hips drives Seungcheol up the wall, literally and figuratively.

Jihoon’s free hand strokes Seungcheol’s jaw with a delicate touch.

“Seungcheol,” Jihoon murmurs, and Seungcheol can feel Jihoon’s hot breath over his chest. “Seungcheol, my Seungcheol. Come for me.”

In comparison to Seungcheol, who’s shouting his heart out, Jihoon is quet. His expression speaks for him, however, brows furrowed with concentration, lips swollen as he bites into them.

Seungcheol can’t stare for long. His eyes clench shut as he feels the heat in the pit of his pelvis spike. Jihoon’s hand trails down his chest as he continues to whisper encouragements, pushing and pushing until Seungcheol feels like he’s breaking, still so frayed at the edges—but it’s freeing in a way, knowing that Jihoon is right there to catch him as he falls.

Seungcheol comes shouting Jihoon’s name. He grabs at the hands on his legs just for the sake of having something to hold onto, and Jihoon meets his fingers, lets Seungcheol cling to him as he rides out his orgasm.

Both of Jihoon’s phantom hands rub Seungcheol’s hips, soothing and attentive, as Jihoon works for his own release. Seungcheol watches him through hooded eyes, and the corners of his lips curl when Jihoon hits his peak, throwing his head back.

Jihoon stays in place for a few moments, hips flush against Seungcheol’s body, their fingers tangled together. A long and shaky sigh slips out of his mouth as his extra hands carefully set Seungcheol’s legs aside, giving him room to pull out.

Ever the diligent boyfriend, Jihoon grabs a few tissues from the bedside drawer and cleans up. His stomach strains as he leans forward to throw them away, and Seungcheol laughs, though not unkindly.

Jihoon pushes his sweaty bangs out of his face. “What,” he pants, “the fuck is so funny?”

Seungcheol gathers Jihoon in his arms. “I could have done that for you, you know,” he says in reply.

Jihoon grumbles, though he presses closer to Seungcheol anyway. “I managed it, didn’t I?” Sighing, Jihoon lays his cheek on Seungcheol’s collarbone. “Like I said, I’m taking care of you, so. You know. I’m trying.”

Seungcheol’s laugh comes out as soft puffs of breath. He plays with the hair on the nape of Jihoon’s neck as he replies, “Yeah, I know. I know. And I really do appreciate it, you know.”

Jihoon hums. “Good.”

Soreness lingers in Seungcheol’s body as he stretches his legs out. Still, he grins; it was so worth it.

“You can get really intense, you know?” Seungcheol says.

Jihoon lifts his head and balances his cheek in one of his extra hands. “Yeah? Are you okay?”

With a soft laugh, Seungcheol nods. “Yeah. More than okay, really, minus my ass.” Seungcheol sighs his satisfaction. “Honestly, that was awesome.”

Seungcheol can feel the heat of Jihoon’s answering blush.

“Well, you kind of asked for it,” Jihoon mumbles. “‘More, Jihoonie!’” he says in his best Seungcheol impression.

Seungcheol just laughs. “It’s just so easy to rile you up,” he explains. He pinches Jihoon’s cheek for emphasis.

“You’re a piece of shit,” Jihoon grumbles. He drops his head back into its spot in the crook of Seungcheol’s neck. “But if that’s what you want, then obviously I’ll give it to you.”

“‘Obviously’?”

“Yeah, obviously.” Jihoon presses his nose into Seungcheol’s skin. “Because, you know. I love you.”

With a grin, Seungcheol pulls Jihoon into a crushing hug. He ignores Jihoon’s protests as he says, “I love you too, Jihoon. So much.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Jihoon pushes his body away from Seungcheol’s chest, and Seungcheol lets him. From his new position, Jihoon catches Seungcheol’s gaze. “How do you feel about another bath?”

A wry grin pulls at Seungcheol’s mouth. “Is this a request for round two?”

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “No,” he says. Then he purses his lips like he’s thinking about it. “Well, no promises, I guess. But I do want to clean up, at least.”

“We’ve really got to capitalize on this time alone,” Seungcheol replies, sitting up.

“It’s your call.” Jihoon sits up as well, though one of his hands lingers on Seungcheol’s shoulder. He reaches up to brush some of Seungcheol’s hair out of his face. “Just don’t push yourself. Or,” he pauses, “I guess if you do, don’t blame it on me.”

Seungcheol quirks a brow. “I thought you were supposed to be taking care of me?”

“Well,” Jihoon says the word around a smirk. “I am, but you’re right: we should capitalize on this alone time.”

“And you called me greedy.”

“I was doing all the work!”

“You were topping, of course you were doing all the work.”

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Their bickering echoes down the hall as they make their way back to the bathroom.

**Author's Note:**

> this is probably the last thing i'll write for this universe for the time being! i'm sorry it was all self-indulgent shipping stuff, but that's pretty much what fanfic was made for. i still have the notes regarding the other members' powers, so if i ever find good prompts for them, then i'll get to it. if not, then this is it. thanks for reading and for leaving such kind comments and kudos!


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